A Heavy Burden
by catmilk
Summary: Howl's Moving Castle AU: Molly Hooper is a timid girl who works in a morgue all she wants is to be left alone, but unfortunately a curse by Irene Adler, the witch of the waste, has other plans in mind when she curses the poor girl into looking like an old woman and it's all because of Sherlock Holmes. Molly must go on a journey to find herself and break this unfortunate curse.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I've been wanting to write a Howl's AU for so long and I finally got the courage to do so.**

**I want to thank my beta tumblr user 'mollymatterrs' for looking over my mess of writing and making it presentable. I hope you all enjoy my little story and feel free to tell me so! **

**I don't own any of the characters or the characters they're based on.**

**enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Molly Hooper, age 23. Occupation: Pathologist—or rather, pathologist in training. The type of girl who liked to be by herself, Molly tended to blend into the background and stay out of trouble. She enjoyed what she did for a living, and she was mostly content with her life.

"Molly!" she heard one of her co-workers shout as she entered the morgue with a group of others.

The young girl looked up from the corpse she was currently sewing up.

"Yes?" she said a little too cheerily.

Meena gave her a look before talking. "The girls and I are going out to lunch; we're going to see if we'll spot Sherlock Holmes!" she said in excitement.

"I heard he steals girl's hearts!" said one of the girls in the background.

Molly covered up the body and snapped off her gloves. "If he steals their hearts, why are you looking for him?"

Over the years she had heard many tales about Sherlock Holmes. He lived in a huge contraption that many people called a castle, but the way they described it made it seem more like of a piece of moving rubbish to her. There were only a few who had seen his castle, or had claimed to have seen it. Molly swore she'd caught a glimpse once, but it was probably her imagination. A series of giggles broke Molly's thoughts.

"We're not looking for him," scoffed one of the girls. "We want to see if we _spot_ him. There's a difference."

"No it's not," hummed Molly in reply.

The girl let out a sigh, causing Meena to nudge her painfully.

"Ouch! What was that for?" the girl asked.

Meena shot her a glare before turning her attention to Molly. "So, are you coming?"

Molly bit at her lower lip before shaking her head. "No, I don't think so, sorry. Maybe next time; plus I have to go visit a friend in a bit."

Meena let out a sigh and urged the other girls out. "Alright, maybe next time. See you."

The morgue grew quiet and Molly could hear the girls talking.

_"She never wants to come with us."_

_"I don't like her very much."_

_"Maybe she's scared Sherlock will appear."_

_"He only appears to pretty girls."_

Molly frowned as she heard the series of giggles fade away. She had never considered herself pretty or beautiful, but she _was_ smart. While all her friends were going off and dating, that or getting married, Molly was always hidden behind a book. She liked it that way; she liked learning. Knowledge was everything to her. If a man was only interested in her looks and not her brain, then he wasn't the one for her. With a sigh, Molly put away the body and began putting on her coat and scarf, readying herself to visit Mary. This was one appointment she could not miss.

* * *

Molly decided to stop by Mary's favorite bakery to get her some pastries; though it seemed as though London was having a festival of some sort. The streets were littered with people who were laughing and cheering, making it a little difficult for Molly to take her usual route to the bakery. Clearly she'd have to take another way. The young pathologist-in-training entered an empty alleyway; the noise of people celebrating was drowned out as she walked further down the alley, which was much darker than she'd originally perceived it to be. Behind her, she heard laughter and Molly's heart began to pound through her chest, for as she turned the corner she had spotted two men dressed in Army uniforms, officious and conversing quietly with each other. Molly breathed out and relaxed a little, but she still kept a cautious eye on them. Normally, soldiers were trustworthy, but these two had a certain darkness about them that unnerved her.

"You just have to walk past them quickly," she told herself and she hurried past them. She almost thought she was safe until one of them called her.

"Hey!"

Molly froze and turned slowly, as one of the soldiers, the taller, blonde one, smiled at her.

"Hey beautiful," he said with a grin. Molly blushed and looked down at her feet.

"You're making her blush," teased the smaller man.

"Oh I think it's cute." Seeing that Molly had begun to look away from him, he placed a hand on her chin. "Hey, look at me," he said as he lifted her head towards him. "What's your name sweet? I'm Sebastian."

Molly pulled her head away. "I have to go."

"Come on, don't be like that! Stay. We can hang out for a bit; we'll take you to the festival. It's dedicated to us you know." he said proudly, "We've been real brave at the war front." He grinned and walked closer to her, almost pressing her against the wall. "Don't you want to hang out with us for a while? We have to go back and fight tomorrow. I'd really like something to remember when I'm fighting out there."

Molly furrowed her brows and shook her head. "I-I-I—"

"Oh, there you are, darling," said a deep baritone voice behind them. Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at the intruder; a tall thin man, he glared at Sebastian and he turned to look at Molly. His gaze was piercing. He pushed past Sebastian and slipped his arm around her waist.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. I hope you didn't miss me terribly," he said smoothly. Molly stared up at the stranger, but he was too busy glaring at Sebastian and the other man.

"I-I-I..." she stuttered.

"Of course, dear," replied the man, though he still did not look at her. "We really must go. We'll be late for our appointment."

Without another word, he tugged her away gently and the two began walking.

Molly was in shock. Or she was at least dreaming because Sherlock Holmes, one of the best wizards in all of England, was currently walking beside her. Her mind whirled. What was she supposed to do? Were all the rumors surrounding this man true? Should she be worried? What if he stole her heart?! She didn't dare look at him—but perhaps she could take a peek. Molly glanced over at Sherlock, and her eyes widened when she saw him looking down at her. Those piercing blue-green eyes looked at her again, and seemed to bore into her core.

"Stop that," he said quickly.

"S-Stop what?" she asked as she turned her head and looked at the road in front of her.

"Thinking. It's annoying."

Molly frowned and looked back at him, opening her mouth to say something, but his grip on her waist tightened.

"Don't panic, but we're being followed," he said in a low, hurried voice.

Molly looked over her shoulder and saw the men from earlier. They were walking rapidly towards them and although she had specifically been told not to panic that was exactly what she began doing. Sherlock must have sensed it because he began to walk faster. The men behind them—who had once claimed themselves to be respectable soldiers—seemed to transform, their bodies twisting and writhing into the shapes of dark, terrifying demons. Sherlock pressed her closer against him.

"Don't look behind us," he warned.

Molly looked over her shoulder and saw that the two men (demons?) had multiplied over and over until they had become almost a dozen. Molly squeaked in horror, but to her surprise, Sherlock let out a sigh.

"I told you not to look!" he scowled.

"I'm sorry!"

"Hold on to me," he demanded.

"What?"

"You heard me. Don't be boring, you heard what I said."

Molly didn't have time to say anything, for she was tripping over her feet as he continued to walk fast. It felt as if she were floating... wait a minute... She _was_ floating!

"Don't look down."

"Oh my God!" she squeaked. "Oh _God!_"

"Not quite," he replied coolly. Molly's feet flailed in the air and she held on tighter to Sherlock's coat."Don't let go of me!"

Sherlock gave her a throaty chuckle and held on to her tighter.

"Follow my movements," he instructed her, and for a moment she wanted to ask what he meant, but as he began to move his legs as if he were walking on solid ground, Molly found herself mimicking his movements. Soon enough, the two were walking in and on the air—quite literally. Molly let out a laugh of delight. Once she had got past the fact that she was in the wide open air, it was actually kind of...well, _nice._ The pair walked over the unsuspecting crowd below them, all too busy in their celebration to notice the pair in the sky.

"Who were those—men?" Molly asked after a while, swallowing slightly.

"Wizards," spat Sherlock. "They gave themselves over, and they've become monsters."

Molly knew by his tone that the subject would no longer be discussed. So she instead told him she could see Mary's flat, pointed out the building and gasped slightly as Sherlock deftly set her on the balcony of the second floor. He gave her a smirk as her feet touched at the wooden floor. He on the other hand was standing on the balcony railing.

"It was a delight," he said with a smile, "but I wasn't lying about being late to an appointment."

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Until next time," he said as he jumped down the railing. Molly gasped again and rushed towards the railing, leaning over to see where he had gone, but she saw nothing. Sherlock Holmes had disappeared into the crowd of people and left a bewildered Molly standing on the balcony.

* * *

"Molly!"

She turned around, just as Mary trotted out into the balcony.

"Oh," she said softly. "Hello, Mary."

"Mrs. Hudson just told me she saw you fly in with Sherlock Holmes!"

Molly gave her a slight smile but only nodded, causing Mary to place both of her hands on her shoulders and she shook her lightly.

"C'mon, tell me everything!" she said with too much enthusiasm to handle.

"Alright, alright. Let's go inside."

x

Once inside, Molly found herself sitting across from Mary and Mrs. Hudson, who just so happened to invite herself to tea after the whole Sherlock ordeal. Breathlessly, Molly recounted to them the entire event of the soldiers, the flight and how Sherlock Holmes had so swiftly rescued her from a possibly unfortunate state.

"And well that's pretty much all that happened," she finished. Mrs. Hudson and Mary gaped as they absorbed her tale. After a moment, Mrs. Hudson spoke.

"That's quite an interesting tale, dear," she said, taking a sip from her tea.

"Do you think he wants to steal your heart?" Mary asked. "I heard he does that—and that he performs experiments on them!"  
Molly snorted and took a sip of her tea. "He only steals pretty girl's hearts."

"Psh, you're beautiful, Molly! You know you are. Stop thinking you're not!"

Molly rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to argue, but was stopped as she remembered. "Mary!"

"What?! What is it!?" replied Mary, startled by her friend's sudden anxiety.

"I was going to buy you some of those little blue berry pastries you like," Molly said with a pout. Mary and Mrs. Hudson looked to each other before they burst into laughter.

"Molly Hooper, you just had an encounter with the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes, and that's all you can think of?" said Mary between laughter. Molly glared at them and finished up her tea.

"Well, excuse me for wanting to bring you a treat," she muttered.

x

"Must you really go?" said Mary sadly as her friend prepared to go. Molly understood her negative mood; it had been months since they had seen one another. With a nod, she brought Mary into a hug.

"Sorry, but I have to go back to work."

"Okay, but I don't know why you like working there, Molly. It's kind of creepy."

"I like it, no one bothers me there. Plus my patients don't complain," she said with a giggle.

"Don't make jokes, Molly," Mary said with a sigh, but she brought her into another hug before releasing her. "Promise we'll hang out soon?"

"Promise."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "You're a shitty liar."

Molly smirked before she departed Mary's home and made her way back to the morgue. She hoped to finish her shift quickly; then she could go home and get the day's insane, exhilarating adventure out of her system.

* * *

The morgue was quiet, it was late and Mike Stamford had left hours ago leaving Molly working in the morgue alone. After a while, she decided that she absolutely hated it. Of course she liked the quiet, but she couldn't bare it after a certain amount of hours. It always became so... eerie. Molly continued to fill out her paperwork, hoping to be done quickly. She'd have to probably end up taking the Underground home tonight, since she didn't feel safe walking home—especially with what had transpired earlier that day.

A noise caused Molly to quickly look up. She narrowed her eyes and stared ahead at the dark hall.

"Hello?" she called out, only to be welcomed by complete silence. She let out a sigh.

"It's only your imagination, Molly," she told herself, "just finish this up and you can go home."

As she continued writing out the piles of paperwork, she heard what sounded like the door slamming. Molly stood absolutely still, eyes wide with fear and worry. A woman came into her view and Molly couldn't help but admire her beauty; the woman had reddish brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. Once she was spotted, the woman gave her a dazzling grin.

"Hm. You're rather plain aren't you?"

Molly's brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"And so little—you aren't a suitable companion for Mr. Holmes. So then... why _you?_"

It didn't seem as though she was talking directly at her. The woman seemed to be in her own world.

"You can't have him," she said finally, aiming a look at Molly.

"I'm sorry? Have who?" she asked, frowning. "Now listen Miss—"

"Irene."

She blinked once, before she gave a nod. "Fine. Irene, listen. I don't know who you're talking about, but you're not allowed back here."

Irene checked her perfectly polished nails and smirked. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Molly Hooper."

Molly froze in her place. How did this woman know her name? Irene grinned and looked over at her.

"Oh yes, I know who you are."

She gave her a wink, causing Molly to shudder.

"I want you to stay away from him," growled Irene.

"W-Who?" replied Molly nervously.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

Molly audibly gulped.

"You're going to see him again, aren't you?"

"I think it's time for you to go," Molly said finally, voice stern.

"Standing up to the witch of the waste, that's rather bold of you," said Irene with a grin.

"The witch of the waste?" gasped Molly.

She internally panicked. A witch?! Her father had warned her about witches; he'd told her they could be pretty wicked, especially when they were mad, and this witch seemed pretty mad—at her. This was all Sherlock bloody Holmes' fault! Why would she even go to see him? Even if she did want to see him again (and she wasn't saying she _did_), she wouldn't know how to even begin to find him. Irene watched her carefully and Molly could see something in her eyes light up. The air in the room seemed to change. It seemed to darken, somehow. Molly didn't have time to react, for the woman had gone, only to be replaced by a cloud of black smoke. The cloud hurdled itself at her, and Molly let out a painful gasp as she felt a sharp pain shoot through her body. She collapsed to her knees, body shivering and let out a gasp. Weak—she felt weak. She lifted her head up weakly, to see the cloud gone and Irene walking away. She gave a horrendous laugh.

"The best thing about curses is that you can't tell anyone about them! Tell Sherlock I send my love," she said as she exited from the morgue, the tap of her heels fading slowly away.

Molly stayed in the same position for what felt like forever. Her body felt different—maybe she had been turned into a frog? With difficulty, she managed to get up from the floor. Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She fully turned to stare at the person looking back at her. She walked closer to examine the reflection looking back. It was an old woman; she looked around eighty, she looked like...

"Me," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone! I present you chapter 2! I'm glad with all the positive feedback I got from the last chapter I hope you all enjoy this chapter! **

**I don't own any of the characters in this story, sadly.**

**I want to thank my wonderful beta mollymatterrs for making my work presentable. **

**Feel free to review! Reading what you all have to say makes me incredibly happy!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

A loud knock at her front door was what managed to wake up poor Molly Hooper. The now old woman wrapped her blanket over her body and stared at the door as another knock was heard.

"Molly? It's Mike. Are you home?"

Molly wrapped her blanket tighter to her body, but did not move from her sofa. Stamford's anxiety was understandable; she'd left work without finishing her papers last night and given no notice about when she would be back in the morgue. After all, she had been too preoccupied with the fact she'd been turned into an eighty year old woman to even think about her stupid paperwork.

"Molly?" she heard Mike say through the door once again.

"I-I'm ill!" she shouted, following it with a series of fake coughs.

"Oh dear, you sound awful!" she heard him say through the door.

"Y-Yes! I couldn't possibly bring myself to go to work and risk getting anyone sick." _Even though my only patients are corpses and barely anyone talks to me unless they need to_, she thought. She coughed again for added effect.

"Alright, I understand," said Mike. "I hope you get better soon, Molls."

With that, she heard Mike Stamford's footsteps fade down the corridor. Molly relaxed and with a sigh, she got out of bed and hobbled slowly over to her mirror. She was haggard at best, with a jawline that drooped and wrinkles so deep you could stick cards in them.

"Well, this isn't _so_ bad," she said in a vague attempt to cheer herself up. "Still in pretty good shape— and my clothes finally suit me."

She smiled at herself in the mirror, but her smile almost immediately turned into a scowl.

"Who am I kidding? I can't stay here."

* * *

On the outskirts of London, there was a place called The Wastes. Notorious for containing many witches and wizards who often tricked unsuspecting travelers; it was a place people only dared to venture into when they had no other option. Perhaps that was exactly why Molly Hooper was heading there. After all, if there was a place where she could possibly break this curse, it was The Wastes. She could make a deal with a witch or wizard—perhaps one nicer than the Irene woman. Surely there had to be at least one around?

Okay, it was a dreadful idea, but what other choice did she have? She just couldn't stay like this.

As Molly walked along the streets of London, head bowed, she would occasionally catch snatches of people's conversations. (Not that she was trying to be nosy; not at all.)

_"Their Prince has gone missing."_

_"Prince Lestrade?"_

_"Yeah! Apparently they're blaming it on us. That can't be good."_

_"Oh dear, all this talk about war and missing Princes... You don't think they'll attack London next?"_

She lowered her head further and tried to look the entire world for an innocent old lady and not a terrified young pathologist-in-training. All this talk about war scared her. She would not have termed herself a coward, and nor would she have termed herself a pacifist, but the war had raged on for so long and so many lives had been lost because of it. Politicians, soldiers, civilians; they were all the same in death. It was disheartening and heartbreaking in equal measure. When would the violence end?

Being an old woman had its advantages though. Everyone ignored her and to be honest, it was rather wonderful. Occasionally she would be asked if she needed assistance from a few younger people, but other than that Molly was doing a pretty good job of blending into the background.

"I could get used to this," she told herself, but a pain in her hip caused her to wince and let out a painful groan. Perhaps it would take her a little while to get _completely_ used to her new situation.

It was thanks to a local farmer and his son that she was able to get a ride to the border of The Wastes, a place preceded by a steep, grass-covered hill. Hopping off the back of the tractor, she thanked the farmer and his son and made her way up the hill.

"You're crazy if you do this, Grandma," the farmer called after her. "There's nothing but witches and wizards out there!"

She rolled her eyes as she continued to walk. "Thank you! I'll keep that in mind!"

Soon though, it felt like hours since Molly had begun her journey, and yet she felt like she had gone nowhere. Perhaps it was time for a tea break. She needed one after such a stressful day of travel. Settling down, she poured herself a hot cup of tea from a thermos she had packed along with some food. She took a sip and let out a hum of approval. Molly gazed at the scenery, and she could see the city. To her annoyance, it was still fairly close.

"I'll never get anywhere with these legs," she sighed.

Molly turned to look down at her lap when she spotted a stick sticking out of the bushes near to her. Hm—maybe she could use that as a walking stick.

Slowly, she sat up and let out a groan. It felt as if every joint in her body had popped. Why did one's body have to become so frail when it got old? She hobbled over to the bush and grasped the stick and pulled.

"It's stuck," she muttered.

She continued to pull, occasionally muttering and cursing under her breath. Finally, she managed to pull it out, almost falling back in the process. Letting out a gasp, she toppled back and found that she had happened to pull out a whole scarecrow, which wore torn clothing with a withering turnip for a head.

"What the—it's just a scarecrow!" she said in an almost amused tone. Her smile fell away as she noticed it standing on its own, without any kind of visible support. She raised a brow. "How are you standing on your own like that?"

The scarecrow stared blankly at her. Molly grimaced. She didn't know why she thought it would reply back to her. Maybe her old mind was making her senile too? The old woman let out another sigh and wrapped her shawl closer to her body.

"Your head's a turnip. I never liked turnips."

She turned to leave.

"At least you're not upside down anymore," she said before she left the scarecrow behind.

x

The wind was picking up, the sun was setting, and Molly Hooper could still see the town. At this point she would never make it anywhere.

"I've barely moved," she sighed.

Molly spotted the scarecrow from earlier hopping its way up to her. Although part of her wished to scream in surprise and jump back, she was far too tired to do such a thing. Instead, she made a face and shook her head.

"Go away!" she told it. "You don't owe me a thing."

The scarecrow stopped a few feet from her. This only served to raise her ire.

"I'm sure you have some type of spell on you and I'm more than tired of spells, so just go find some field and stand in it!"

The scarecrow stood still and Molly almost thought she'd convinced it but soon enough, it began hopping towards her again. A gust of wind blew, taking her shawl with it.

"My shawl!" she yelled.

It flew past the scarecrow, but where other scarecrows would've let it float past, this particular scarecrow quickly turned around to go catch it. Molly blinked and watched as the scarecrow disappeared. She turned and shivered—sure, she might be a little cold now, but at least she didn't have a cursed scarecrow following her.

She spoke too soon, for the scarecrow returned. Only this time, it had her shawl, draped around its stick of an arm.

"How did you pick that up?" she asked curiously.

It continued to stare blankly at her and Molly rolled her eyes before she took her shawl and wrapped it snugly around her frail body. "Thank you. If you would like to do me one more favor, could you go find me a place to stay?"

The scarecrow stood there for a second before it turned and hopped down the path that Molly had just gone. She watched it for a bit before she smirked and gave herself an imaginary pat in the back.

"That'll be the last time I see that stupid turnip head," she said, quite happy with the fact. Scarecrows were quite gullible, as it turned out.

* * *

After a time of pacing back and forth against the grassy hill, Molly began to shiver. The cold somehow always managed to get right through her.

"Why is it that when you're old, you're always cold?" she groaned to herself.

Molly plopped onto the soft grass and buried her face against her shawl for warmth. She hoped to at least get a little warmed up with the small amount of body heat her stupid old body could provide her. Maybe she could start a fire... if she knew how to. How hard could it be though? Wasn't it one of the more basic survival instincts, to be able to build and light a fire? Molly looked around for anything she could use, but the smell of smoke hit her.

"Someone has a fire going..." she muttered as she sniffed the air again, inhaling the rich scent of fire burning. It made her think of home, sitting next to the fire with a warm cup of tea and a good book. Maybe there was a cabin nearby; maybe they'd let her in, just for one night. They wouldn't let an old woman stay out in the cold. No-one was that mean.

Molly stood up and let out a small huff of air as she began walking up the hill. Maybe the cabin was just up the hill. Yet before she even made it up, a huge mental contraption appeared out of nowhere, blowing out puffs of smoke and creaking with each movement. Molly stared at it with wide eyes as it came fully into view. The ground below her shook and she spotted that scarecrow—perhaps she could call it Turnip Head, considering how stupid it was—hopping into view and it settled beside her.

"Turnip Head!" she yelled impatiently. "That's Sherlock's castle! That is _not _what I meant when I asked for a place to stay!"

The castle stopped moving as soon as it was above her. Why had it stopped moving? Molly gazed up at the castle in awe.

"Will you look at that," she said to no one in particular. "This thing _does_ look like a piece of rubbish."

As if it had heard her and as if it was insulted by what it had heard, the castle creaked and began to move again. Molly let out a surprised squeak and scrambled out of the way as quickly as she could. Turnip Head hopped past her and stopped near a door. It motioned, tilting with the wind as if it were telling her that she needed to go there. It had to be the way in. Molly gave a determined nod and quickly walked towards the door, even though the castle continued to move.

"Slow down!" she yelled at the castle, even though she knew it could not hear her. She managed to grab onto one of the handles and held on for dear life. "Christ! Are you going to let me in or not!?"

The castle bounced once, and she felt herself being thrust forward, as if scooped up from the floor. She hauled herself onto her feet and grasped at the door knob. She took one last look at Turnip Head as she held on.

"Thank you for your help!" (Okay, so she wasn't exactly thankful, but she was polite.) "And I'm sure Sherlock won't steal the heart of a shriveled up old lady like me," she said with a slight laugh before she went inside. Well, she wasn't _entirely_ sure but she did hope. She would very much have liked to keep her heart; she'd already lost her youth.

* * *

It was nice and warm inside, thankfully. Molly slowly made her way up the steps where everything was dark, except for a glowing red light of a fire in the fireplace. Molly gazed around the rest of it. The place was a mess! There were random books and beakers on the table and the floor; spider webs sat on the corners of the walls—wait!? Was that an _eyeball_?! Molly rolled her eyes as she continued to look around. She spotted the wallpaper; a yellow smiley face stared back at her—she could have also sworn she noticed bullet holes on the wall. Molly let out a sigh and shook her head. This place was well and truly an utter pigsty.

Once she knew she was safe, she walked over to one of the seats, a red chair that looked extremely comfortable, and exactly like what Molly needed at that moment. Sitting down, she settled against the chair and heaved a gentle sigh. After today she had needed this. She rubbed her hands together and extended them a little over to the small fire, burning low but bright.

"When I think castle, this isn't what comes to mind," she said to herself.

Molly let out a yawn and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She wasn't afraid of who might come, if it be Sherlock or someone else. That was one good thing about being old; she didn't get scared so easily anymore.

x

As Molly stared at the glowing fire, her eye lids grew heavier and heavier with sleep. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn she saw a pair of eyes in the fire. Molly let out a yawn and closed her eyes.

"I wouldn't want to be you right now, lady. That is one bad curse. You're going to have a really hard time getting rid of that one," said a voice suddenly.

Molly blinked awake and looked around until her eyes landed on the fire. It had… spoken?! She stuttered in her surprise. "Y-you—"

"Let me guess," said the fire. "You're not allowed to talk about the curse?"

Molly stared at the fire open mouthed.

"What are you?" she asked, breathless.

"I am an extremely powerful fire demon! John! John Watson."

Molly giggled and the fire scowled at her.

"What? Why are you giggling?"

"What kind of a name is John Watson?"

"Hey! I'm an extremely powerful fire demon!" he whined.

Molly stopped giggling and smiled, an idea alighting in her mind. "You're a demon! You should be able to break my curse!"

John looked at her and blinked. "Maybe, maybe not. If you can help me break my curse, then perhaps I can break the spell that's on you."

Molly frowned. Trusting too easily and being gullible was what had got her into this mess. "Wait a minute. You're a _demon._ How do I know I can trust you?" she asked him suddenly. "If I help you, do you promise to help me?"

John frowned slightly. "I don't really know... Demons don't really make promises."

Molly leaned against the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Then go find someone else to break your curse."

John let out a sigh. "Come on! You should feel bad for me! This stupid curse keeps me locked in this castle! I can't go anywhere, and Sherlock treats me like a slave! I hate it!" he spat.

As John complained, Molly once again felt her eyes getting heavy with sleep. She tuned out the voice of John and yawned.

"Are you listening to me?" he said.

Molly nodded her head tiredly. "Yes—yes, I'm listening," she muttered tiredly.

"Look, if you can figure out how to break this thing I'm in with Sherlock, then you can break the spell. After that, I can easily break your spell."

Molly nodded. Sleep was slowly consuming her.

"Alright," she said softly. "It's a deal."

That was the last thing she managed to mumble before sleep overtook her.


End file.
